Huang Kid Khronicles

Amy, Lee, Jada, and Aaron want to say: happy holidays from our house to your house.

It's been a tough week in the Huang household. I've been crunched on account of a flurry of end-of-year work. Amy's been crunched on account of holiday-related preparations. The kids have subconsciously picked up on all of the stress, and have amped up their own anxieties: Jada has been inconsolably weepy in the evenings, Aaron has been more oppositional than usual, and both of them together leave us feeling like we are watching an episode of Nanny 911, only the misbehaving children are ours and there is neither TV camera to capture their deeds nor all-knowing nanny to tell us what we're doing wrong.

Their troubles are made all the more jarring by the onslaught of holiday updates from friends and family members whose children are right in line with how children of our socio-economic status ought to be. They are pretty and well-dressed, hitting academic and social milestones way ahead of schedule. They are described as delighting in their siblings, happy and sociable, a joy to watch grow up. If there is even a peep of complaint from the parents, it is over the hecticness of having to shuttle the little ones between soccer practice, piano, and dance rehearsal.

In contrast, the complaining you might hear if you were privy to the private conversations of me and Amy is of the hecticness of having to shuttle our little ones between the battery of special instructors they see, or of having to stay on top of related administrative and insurance paperwork. Our children may be pretty and well-dressed, to, but they are behind on many academic and social milestones. They may be warming significantly to each other as siblings, but we worry over the very real possibilities that they will face major future dysfunction if they continue along the paths they are now on.

If you know us and our kids, you may assuringly protest and counter that our children are delightful, and we shouldn't be so gloomy about them or hard on ourselves. But this is in fact not edifying to us, however well-meaning your sentiment might be, because it undercuts our opinion that our children have very real issues and brands us as being over-reacting and unnecessarily complaining.

In contrast, one of those most supportive interactions I have had over the past couple of years was a chance encounter with a colleague of mine who I know through work, who responded to my brief update on how my kids were doing with a knowing look, and who then proceeded to summarize for me some extra help he had had to secure for one of his own kids. In other words, instead of suggesting to me that everything was going to be alright, he appreciated firsthand how hard it is to fight with and for your kids, and so affirmed the weariness and worry that he detected in my description of how my family was doing.

Now, it is fair for you to call me on the notion that I am making a comparison between my kids and our family situation, and that of what I read in holiday updates from my upper-class friends and family members. I have blogged a lot, especially recently, about the intersection of class and parenting, and I hope those posts have not come across as one who has this all figured out or is above making class distinctions, but rather as one who struggles to not want to give into a socio-economic "keeping up with the Joneses."

Am I embarrassed of my kids because they are not up to par, intellectually and behaviorally, for the class level I aspire to? I probably am. With notable exceptions, like the affirming conversation I described above, people who run in the same socio-economic circles as I are not faced with the kinds of issues Amy and I are faced with in our parenting of Jada and Aaron. And so piled on top of the challenges we work through with our kids, I have piled on my own sense that I am alone among my social circle in dealing with such issues. And, because I am susceptible to class distinctions, I feel exposed and vulnerable as a result.

Don't get me wrong: I love my children. If I didn't, it would hurt less that they struggle so, and it would matter less that they are at higher odds for future trouble. I am rightfully and typically proud of them, delighting in their uniquenesses and genuinely fond of spending time with them. I wouldn't trade them for anything, and will fight with everything I have for them; and I realize that even their dysfunctions are part of who they are and part of what make them precious. But I must confess, even at the risk of coming across as petty and selfish, that this all would be easier if I didn't care so much about my social standing.

They say that being a parent stretches you in ways that can sap you or strengthen you. If you need to work on being more patient, raising kids is certainly a worthy test; or if your marriage has fissures in it, adding kids can be a platform for either mending them or widening them. One way this is true for me, in terms of exposing an area in which I need to improve, is that, as I noted earlier this week, kids are a vivid way for us shallow people to express and concern ourselves with where we are in the societal pecking order.

This, for me, is a somewhat surprising area of stretch, and a personal weakness I need to overcome. Will I go about doing right by my kids, however straining and stressful it is, receiving encouragement and rejuvenation where I can, and not using them as part of how I keep score of my own accomplishments and strivings? Or will I allow myself, however sub-consciously, to make some mental calculation about how what my kids are like slots me into a certain strata of socio-economic class, overly proud if they do me proud and unnecessarily ashamed if they don't measure up in the world? Perhaps, because I know I am ambitious, it shouldn't surprise me that I struggle with this; but I guess I am surprised because I didn't think I would be this vain and insecure, to worry in this way.

As always, the work continues, to be a better husband and parent and person. Thanks for reading this far, and for allowing me this musing, which is certainly not the typical tenor for end-of-year summaries of family life, but which is where I am at this time. Lord, help me and help my children, I pray.

I'm pretty sure we didn't have stuff like the Funplex when we were growing up. Jada attended another birthday party of a classmate of hers, and this place had it all: ball pit gone wild, video games in the style of Chuck E. Cheese, and bumper cars. For bigger kids or warmer times, you could also go bowling, play mini golf, and ride water slides. Even the traditional pizza and cake was bigger and brasher: after blowing out the candles, the birthday boy was whisked across the room into a wind chamber, where we all cheered him on as he tried to stuff play money into a box. Needless to say, both Jada and I needed a nap after it all: Jada from coming down after a huge sugar rush of fruit punch and two pieces of cake, and me from all of the sensory overload.

It was a pretty cold day to go to the zoo, but we found the marquee animals out and about, and a non-profit group provided entertainment in one of the indoor exhibits. So what I thought would be a short jaunt turned into a morning-long excursion, and even at that, Jada insisted we stay longer. Aaron offered no verbal opinion of his own, but since he got to watch pretty young ladies dancing, I'm sure he wanted to stay, too. Good times all around.

How can a label be both relieving and stress-inducing? Somehow, it is possible. We have an early sense that Aaron is on the road to something that the pediatricians call Oppositional Defiant Disorder. You can click on the link to learn more about what this means.

On the one hand, it is a relief to have a name to Aaron's issues. We can adjust our expectations and be less surprised when incidents happen. It frames our understanding of what he needs, provides some guidance as to remedies, and may open the door to receiving some of the extra help we need. Perhaps, subconsciously, we will be less apt to pressure ourselves or beat up ourselves about having a hard time with Aaron, for we now know he does in fact have extra challenges, which may make it easier for us to give ourselves permission to be drained without thinking less of ourselves as parents.

On the other hand, it is stressful to realize what we're facing. We have to be very vigilant to move Aaron away from the kinds of paths kids with his diagnosis can end up on. The very process of finding out about, securing, and following through on care resources is taxing. And we feel more pressure about choices we make concerning his wellbeing, since we know that without proper care he can worsen in his behavior and defiance.

So, in summary, this week has brought news that has simultaneously relieved us and stressed us out. Apparently, labels can do that sometimes.

Haven't done this in awhile, so figured I'd report on vitals:

Aaron = 3'1" (35th percentile), 34 lb (76th)

Jada = 3'4" (13th), 37 lb (43rd)

This has been a crazy week in the Huang household. We had two important care-related sessions for Jada and one for Aaron, both of which both Amy and I attended. I had one long train ride to Harrisburg and another long car ride to Willow Grove, both work-related, which, combined with the personal time off for the kids' meetings, meant a significantly compressed amount of time . . . and I had massive amounts of meetings and deadlines to contend with. (My Monday schedule - 7-7:30 walk/subway to train station 7:30-9 train to Harrisburg 9-10 pre-meeting 10-11 meeting 11-12 post-meeting 12-2 train from Harrisburg 2-3 phone meeting 3-4 meeting at Jada's school 4-6 phone meeting. And, Tuesday was busier.)

On Amy's side, she had all the pre and post work on our kids' meetings, including a feverish run of phone calls to figure out how to get them everything they need. And she wasn't feeling well. And she was mulling over with me what we should do with Aaron, as his diagnosis from earlier this week was pretty severe, we just found out he tested really poorly from an evaluation last month, and we need to figure out whether more significant interventions are in order. Plus this was her last week for her prison rotation.

Finishing her last day of prison, we both separately thought celebrating at Philly Diner would be a good idea. And it was, except for our crazy kids. Jada was weepy even before she got there, and Aaron was defiant from the jump. After a long day at the end of a long week, they were crumbling before our eyes.

We were finishing up when Amy noticed Aaron needed a diaper change. I was keeping my eye on the clock, because our parking meter across the street was about to expire and Philly doesn't mess around. But I dithered, and by the time I had paid the bill, Amy had changed Aaron's diaper, and we had gotten everyone's coat on, dude was already writing us up. In the span of probably two minutes, our meter had expired, a ticket was being written up, and we were arriving at our car.

To add to the fun, Aaron ran out into the street between two parked cars - mind you, on a busy street in the pitch black night - and I nabbed him violently before he could get past the parked cars, causing him to cry. Jada was already crying because she had just been sassy with Amy and I had told her that as a result, she couldn't have a cookie when we got home. Both continued to cry as we drove home. And then, as we were stopped one block from our house, Amy thanked me for taking us all out to dinner, and instead of responding, I first said, "You can turn onto our street now," because I was jerkily more concerned about getting home as soon as possible than about acknowledging her heartfelt words of gratitude.

Needless to say, the bedtime routine was jettisoned, the kids tantrummed all the way to their rooms, Amy and I both earned ourselves several more grey hairs, and within minutes, all was quiet as our kids had passed out on their beds for the night. In short, it was an apt ending to a crazy week.

Please pray for us as parents. We love our kids to death, but they are very high-maintenance, and they have lots of extra needs, and we are worried about them, and we fall very short of what they need to be well. God has been good to us so far, in terms of providing insurance coverage and good schools and extra resources. And more is needed for their well-being: more instruction, more encouragement, and more energy and patience for their parents.

Like his mother, Aaron likes to unwind after a long day by vegging on the couch in front of the TV. Jada likes her TV, too, but if she isn't into the DVD, she's off to see what others are doing. These typical evening activities are captured in these pics. Notice also the ubiquitous Dolly in Jada's hand, and a car and a blanket in Aaron's.